


After The Fighting Is Over

by Chrissy24601



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, some post-combat fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 22:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy24601/pseuds/Chrissy24601
Summary: “It doesn’t matter what it is,” Flint snarled. “It matters what it looks like. And today, your men thought you’d been fucking slaughtered.”





	After The Fighting Is Over

**Author's Note:**

> An AU with S2 dynamics, but sans John Silver or Urca Gold, so nothing hurts but Billy's lip and Flint's questionable ability to deal with emotions.

Taking this prize had been a bitch of a fight. Plenty of blood to go around. Billy was still pressing a piece of cloth to the cut by his mouth when he entered the captain’s quarters.

The moment he stepped inside, he knew things were bad. Flint paced up and down behind his desk, eyes spitting fire even when staring at nothing but the floorboards. Oh, brother… He took a deep breath.

“Mr De Groot said you wanted to see me, captain?”

Flint stopped in his tracks and whipped around. If looks could kill, Billy was certain he’d be sinking to the bottom of the sea right now.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” spat Flint, his every word as sharp as a blade.

Billy frowned, confounded. “Well, when Mr De Groot found me, I was securing and vetting the survivors from the prize ship who wish to join the crew. Or did you intend to leave them on the wreck to burn with her?”

The silence lasted a fraction too long to be comfortable.

“Fuck those survivors!” Flint roared. “Fuck that ship!” He closed in with two steps and grabbed fistful of Billy’s necklaces to pull the taller boatswain down to eyelevel. “And fuck _you_ for not keeping your wits about you in a fight!”

Billy gulped. He’d dropped the cloth and now his lip began to bleed again, if only a trickle. The sight of blood seemed to infuriate the captain even more.

“You’re the boatswain and leader of the vanguard, Billy! The men follow you blindly! What the ever-loving fuck do you think will happen when you run headlong into a man’s sword?”

“What? I hardly—“

“Gates taught you better than that! Christ, _I_ taught you better than that!”

“It was a slip of—“

“ _It was enough!_ ”

Flint’s thundering voice must have resonated throughout the ship. Standing this close, Billy’s ears rang with the force of it.

The captain released him, panting with fury and frustration. And something else. Something rare that Billy had seen before, but never on the ship. Never anywhere near the crew. He gently sucked his swollen lip to hide the offending blood.

There had been a sword in his face, that much was true. Only it was a brief swing that had nicked his lower lip. Nothing serious, but blood had come pouring out as if they’d ripped open his entire face. He’d retaliated within heartbeats and they’d won the prize. He’d bled profusely for a little while, but most of the blood on his shirt wasn’t his.

“If you’re going to be so damned reckless,” Flint said, his voice dangerously low now, “I might as well kick you off this crew.”

Billy riled. “What? You can’t do that!”

“Watch me!”

“Ow, come on! Just because one idiot got lucky? We’ve all sustained plenty of wounds a thousand times worse.” He gestured at the captain’s bandaged forearm. “And you want to kick me off for a fucking _split lip_? Jesus!”

“It doesn’t matter what it is,” Flint snarled. “It matters what it looks like. And today, your men thought you’d been fucking slaughtered.”

“Just for a heartbeat.”

 _“They let their guard down!_ Seeing you injured made them lower their swords! You split lip almost cost us the fucking prize and several lives of that crew you hold so dear!”

In his mind, Billy went over those few moments between the edge of the blade slicing his skin and him planting his sword in the attacker’s belly. He had barely stopped. The men behind him hadn’t noticed until he pulled his sword out of the idiot’s guts. The vanguard hadn’t dropped a beat because of him.

But from his vantage point on the prize ship’s bridge, Flint had seen everything. _When you caught him watching you, he had his sword down..._

“I’m sorry,” Billy said.

That unsettled Flint more than the blood had. “What?!”

“I’m sorry this rattled you so. I never meant to scare you.” He’d kept his tone deliberately quiet, intentionally addressing not his captain, but the man behind the mask.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You didn’t scare me. You didn’t—!”

It was strangely satisfying to see Captain Flint flounder for control while the real reason for this blow-out pushed its way to the surface – strong, hot and with tears in its wake.

“We all run risks,” Billy said as he closed the distance between them. “I’m no happier when I see you get hurt in combat.” He gently touched his captain’s injured arm, feeling the man’s tremors under his fingertips. “But I’m fine. You’re fine. We made it through to fight another day, take another prize.” He leaned closer. “Right, James?”

A strangled sob, a ragged breath. Then a strong, desperate hand clamped down on his wrist.

“Don’t _ever_ do that to me again, Billy Bones.”

Billy heard the real plea, unspoken but so heartfelt it seeped into his skin: _Don’t leave me. For the love of God, don’t ever leave me._

“I have no intention to,” Billy whispered. He nuzzled the unruly ginger hair, taking in the smell of sweat and gunpowder. “Just tell me you won’t, either.”


End file.
